


Skin And Bone, Trained To Get Along

by PotionsMistressM



Category: Once Upon a Time in Wonderland (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionsMistressM/pseuds/PotionsMistressM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Anastasia notices about him is his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin And Bone, Trained To Get Along

It was his hands she noticed first. The way his long, elegant fingers would stroke the serpent's head on his staff so lovingly every once in a while had attracted her attention, though it seemed to Anastasia that the movements were quite unconscious on his part. His touch was light against the pitted and textured gold, delicate almost, and those little movements could come at the most random times: he could be sitting in his dungeon watching his prisoners or haranguing her for something or other in her throne room, and his fingers would glide along the curves and edges of the staff, caressing it like some lost lover. It was a natural jump to make, she reasoned, that after studying those hands for so long and knowing the power that flowed through every inch of Jafar that she might start... thinking things. He was an incredibly good-looking man after all, and it had been so very, very long since she'd had anyone in her life. In her bed. She didn't love him- of course she didn't love him- but the longer their partnership went on the more she came to realize that she _wanted_ him. In her every encounter with him she wore her best mask of disdain, of arrogant boredom, but after he'd left, when she was all alone, she would dream of his touch.

He had never touched her gently, never in the whole time they'd known each other. Even when his touch was light, his every movement was laced with menace. He exuded his power and control in every single breath, and though Anastasia was not one to readily accept domination, there was something comforting- something familiar and _right_ in his contact. As she watched his hand come to rest on top of the cobra’s head once again, heavy and authoritative, she remembered the solid warmth of that same hand on the small of her back as they stood on the balcony, facing the crowd during Will's attempted execution. She remembered how horror had somehow become intermixed with the comfort of his touch; her body had responded to the heat radiating out from Jafar’s hand- positioned so possessively and so commandingly- even as her first- her _real_ \- love had faced certain death. That was the first time she realized her body could betray her, despite every clamoring alarm bell in her brain and despite the pain and panic that raged in her heart. Since then she had been careful to keep herself detached from him, but it seemed that no matter how much care she took not to think of him, her body had very, very different ideas. When she watched his hands wrap around that ever-present staff she remembered his hand wrapping around her throat, the threat of pressure pulsing through every one of his work-calloused fingers, his thumb stroking along her jawline. In her dreams she turned her head in his hand and kissed his thumb, licked it and drew it into her mouth. She would imagine his eyes, at first going wide with surprise and then darkening, focusing so intently on her that it took her breath away.

 

It would be a lie and a complete waste of time for her to deny that the power and danger in Jafar weren't major factors in her attraction to him, and even though she'd never let him get the upper hand in the games they played day to day, the thought of him dominating her in the darkness of her own bedchamber caused her to shiver and bite her lip. More than anyone she'd ever known- more than Will, even- Anastasia simply _wanted_ Jafar. She imagined his voice, as smooth and slow as honey dripping over her skin as he came to her in the dark, and she imagined his eyes, impossibly dark and dangerous, focused solely on her and searing every bit of her flesh that their gaze fell upon. In her dreams she watched that cocky smirk twitch the corner of his mouth up, and she giggled and sighed as his surprisingly soft hair fell across her skin and tickled her. She wanted his lips on her mouth, her neck, her breasts; she wanted to feel the weight of him settle above her, inside her. She wanted to dig her fingernails into his back and hear him moan her name. But most of all, when night fell and she was all alone with no one and nothing but her thoughts, she wanted his hands.


End file.
